


Some Things Change...

by PumpkinSpite



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Drabble, Drabble Collection, Heartache, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Long-Distance Relationship, M/M, Other Characters Are Mentioned, Trans Male Character, lots of heartache, lots of pinning
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-06-13
Updated: 2018-06-13
Packaged: 2019-05-21 20:54:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 1,044
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14922672
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PumpkinSpite/pseuds/PumpkinSpite
Summary: A collection of drabbles based off of RPs and conversations with friends.C!Mercy uses the first name Markus in these.





	1. Carnations

Every twenty-first of May the scene near the old ruin becomes lively. 

The city of Zurich had build a monument on a little field of grass, bronze plates on the ground with the names of those lost. One name always jumped out and was still whispered amongst those who visit the sight, even after all these years. Even after years and years of dust and rumors and gossip Jack Morrison was still seen as the perfect poster boy, an ideal less than a person. When people visit his grave stone, they tell the stories of a man who was a born soldier, a hardened man of honor, competence taken human form.

Markus knew better.  
He knew him as a man who needed to sit in several chairs, a commander of thousands, assistant to hundreds, a teacher to dozens. Too many jobs for one person that was only taught to act and not to pretend. He still remembered that one time he showered in one of the open showers just because they were easier to access and no one would catch him after a 48-hour-shift. Jack…the commander was a hard-working man, for sure, but he was also lacking self-respect. No one ever saw the rings under his eyes when he met with UN representatives or the stiffness in his motions in interviews.  
And yet he was kind. No matter when, he would always see kindness in his worn eyes and compassion in simple gestures. His graying blond hair and his dark eyes would haunt him, in the best way possible. They had their share of strange and awkward moments, but he was always considered. Always respectful. Always trying his best to satisfy others. The world wanted him to become the ideal leader, Markus already saw his better qualities - he was a good man. And a handsome one at that.

Every year he came to the plates.  
They had lost so many people that day. Kwame. Hannes. Miyu. Webber. Morrison…  
He would always bring flowers to his plate. The closest thing to a grave. The closest place where one could grieve a death without a body. White carnations. Red roses would be tacky in his mind. Tears rarely fall nowadays. But he would stay longer than before, bathing in memories and the melancholy of missed opportunities. It was balm for a broken heart.

And once the evening fell over his head and he would move back to the hotel, a red glow broke through the gravel of the withered ruins.


	2. Dream

Sometimes he would have this dream.

He was coming home early, exhausted from his day at his doctor’s office. Too many patients, too little nurses, as per usual. When will parents learn the difference between a rash and a skin infection?  
Oreo would lay spread out on the floor. He has grown old by now, lazy and fat like a family cat is supposed to be. A few careful strokes before he was caught off guard by a familiar smell. A grin spread on his face as he peaked into the kitchen.

Jack.   
Jack with white hair and a worried face, trying his best to not burn those steaks. Jack with tired shoulders and a hunched back from working too much himself behind his desk. Even now that he stayed at home in their little apartment.   
He inched into the kitchen, holding his arms around him.  
“Hey Big Boy…”  
He would coo, head resting against the former blond.   
A signature low, raspy chuckle. “You are home early.”  
A hum and Markus would begin to seek after his neck. Kisses are lined up in a row, hands clinging to his _husband_ ’s shirt… _want…need… please…_

He often woke up at that part.   
The realization of a missing ring or the absurdity of the situation usually does that to him.   
But more often lately, he would wake up next to a man with white hair. And a mask. 

This was an unrealistic dream. But reality has gotten as close to it as it could.

And once that visor lit up in a pale red, Markus would smile nonetheless.   
“Hey Big Boy…”


	3. Texting

His eyes felt heavy, but the restless thoughts in his head kept him awake.   
The blanket over his feet was too heavy for him to force aside and make room to sit up. The bed still felt hard. Still a bed for show, not for use. He could count the times he actually slept in it since his arrival on two hands. Not the healthiest thing to do. Especially when you are a doctor. But just because he knew the risks like everyone else doesn’t free him of his duties. And helping someone else sleep is more important than finding yourself in dreamland on time.

He turned, back flat, the sockets of his wings felt prominent in and on his skin.   
This bed is too big, he mused. Way too big, even for a guy like him. White hair got tossed around as he turned again, facing the window now.   
How was it that he still felt empty?   
He was back. He was ‘home’. Winston was here, Lena, Genji and his master, Reinhardt and Torbjörn and Little Brigitte, even Jesse.   
They were all here.   
That’s what he always wanted.   
So why was he still…craving?

Because _he_ wasn't here.

The heavy eyelids fell shut. And out of the darkness broke a silhouette.   
Thick and pale hair, slowly graying in the cutest patterns, even down to the stubble. That smell of too much aftershave, too much coffee and too much desperation.   
Those sad eyes, blue like water, like tears, like Overwatch…

He wanted to slap himself. It’s the same shit again. An endless spiral of grief, of unsatisfied need. Could-haves, would-haves, should-haves. Exactly what his therapist warned him about. The usual coping method was probably out of question. And going out at three am in the morning just to pick up a guy wasn’t worth it.

He glanced over to his phone. A vague idea sprouting in his head…  
He went through the contacts, mumbling to himself. Maybe he hasn’t changed numbers. It was hard enough to get it out of the old man.  
He began to type. In need of a distraction.

_[TXT] hey fox ❤_


End file.
